The Sons of Adam: The sequel of The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 2) Read Free Page A

up at another meeting since first thing that morning. The candidate was brilliant, he specialized in the Middle Ages and over the last year his work had traveled around the small world of European archeology. But he was rather elusive and it had been difficult to get in touch with him to arrange the interview.
    When I first entered my office, I thought that there had been some kind of mistake. Slouching on my sofa, with one leg dangling over the armrest and the other resting on a cushion that had been tossed on the floor, was a young, very tall, blond man, with shoulder-length hair and eyes that were the spitting image of Iago's. He was looking at me with a cheeky smile and wearing a leather jacket and well-worn biker boots.
    At that moment, Iago walked in. I heard him behind me, although I couldn't see his face, when the possible candidate, with a strong Nordic accent, said:
    "Hello, father."

    4
    Four horsemen
     
    IAGO
     
    I had to lean against the corner of the desk because I lost my balance for a moment. Gunnarr seemed to be amused by my reaction but remained seated, like a carefree Nordic king on his throne. Seeing my son alive after four hundred and eleven years was too much for my senses to handle.
    "I thought you were in the Valhalla," I managed to say.
    "Let's just say that I changed my mind in the middle of the road.”
    Was that a challenge or was it just the memories of my memories that made it sound that way?
    "And the spear that pierced your brain?" I asked him. My temples were throbbing and I couldn't stop swallowing saliva.
    "Is that what Uncle Nagorno told you?" he said, laughing. "He's always so dramatic."
    "Enough!" I shouted. "Enough of your laughing, Gunnarr. You can't let us think that you're dead, let us mourn for you for half a millennium and then come back to laugh at my reaction."
    "Can't I, father? Can't I really?" he shouted, raising his voice and standing up.
    His hair was exactly the same as the first time I had lost him. Long, dirty and scruffy. His overall appearance was confirming my fear: that four centuries had not managed to civilize him.
    "And speaking of those who mourned, where is my grandfather, and what about Aunt Lyra and Uncle Nagorno? You lot always move in packs."
    "No, Gunnarr. First you tell me why you are here and how you found me."
    "Excuse me, both of you," I had forgotten that Dana was there, looking from one to the other. "Not that I should be telling you what to do when a father and son haven't seen each other for four hundred years, but shouldn't you give each other a hug or something?"
    "And who's the pacifist?" Gunnarr asked.
    "She's my wife, Adriana Alameda.”
    "Your wife, Adriana Alameda..." he repeated, chewing on the words before spitting them on the floor. "Well that is interesting, father."
    I was afraid of that. He hadn't forgiven me. Our relationship was exactly the same as where we left it on January 3, 1602.
    Focus , I forced myself. I had to be decisive.
    "Let's go for a ride, Gunnarr. I have to get you up to speed."
    Meanwhile, Gunnarr had moved closer to Dana and was bowing.
    " Kære stedmor ..."
    Dana turned to me with a tired look on her face.
    "What the hell did he just say?" she sighed.
    "My dear stepmother," I translated from Danish.
    I opened the door and motioned for them to follow me. Paula, the secretary, pretended to be typing on her laptop whilst watching us out of the corner of her eye.
    We went down to the parking lot and Gunnarr breathed air out from his lungs as if he were trying to blow up a blimp.
    "Ah..., I'm going to like it here. I love that sea breeze on my face."
    "Are you planning on staying long?" I asked him suspiciously.
    He ignored my question and jumped onto a 20th century motorbike.
    "A good bike, by the looks of it," I said, changing the subject. Gunnarr liked beating about the bush and rarely answered a direct question.
    "It's an XA model from 1942. During the Second World War the American government built just a hundred